


Drunken Roses

by DeathBelle



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22229500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathBelle/pseuds/DeathBelle
Summary: It's New Year's Eve, and Oikawa is fully prepared to spend it alone.He isn't happy about it; quite the opposite, in fact. He isn't happy, but he understands. Ushijima has a match to play, and he can't skip it just to spend time with Oikawa, even if it's a special occasion.It doesn't matter. Oikawa is just fine on his own. He has a bottle of wine and nowhere to be.Except Oikawa doesn't spend the night alone as expected, and the New Year gets off to a great start.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 29
Kudos: 502
Collections: Haikyuu!!





	Drunken Roses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [novocaine_sea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/novocaine_sea/gifts).



> Written for a fic exchange with Aja! Because we're both slackers and missed the deadline for HQ Secret Santa. Still counts. 
> 
> Prompt: flowers + alcohol

It was New Year’s Eve, and Oikawa Tooru was alone.

It wasn’t a surprise. He had no control over the National Team’s schedule, and as soon as he’d learned there was an abroad preliminary match on the thirty-first, he’d known he would be alone.

It was expected. It was fine. He wasn’t bothered at all, not even a little.

That was what he continued to tell himself, as he gave up on his wine glass to drink straight from the bottle.

Iwaizumi had invited him over, of course. He was having some sort of get-together at his place, and he’d promised food and friends. Most of the Seijoh alumni would be there, and a chance to catch up with them would have been nice.

He could have gone, but that would have ruined the opportunity to stay home and sulk.

Oikawa slouched back on the couch and tipped the bottle back again.

He was being dramatic, and he knew it. There was nothing to be upset about. He and Ushijima both had busy schedules. It was impossible for them to be together all the time, or even for all major holidays. They made sacrifices to do what they loved. It was part of who they were, part of their relationship.

Oikawa knew that, but he also knew he would continue to pout.

The tv was on, and Oikawa fumbled for the remote to push the volume higher. He’d found an obscure sports station with a bit of coverage about the match, but it was only crumbs of information. It hadn’t even been an official game, just a practice event to keep the players sharp during the off season. The station wasn’t talking about it anymore. It had ended hours ago. Oikawa was no longer sure how many hours, because he didn’t know what time it was.

He squinted at the clock on the far wall, but it was too blurry. Oikawa had said it was a dumb thing to have. If he wanted to know what time it was, he could just check his phone.

Except Oikawa misplaced his phone every five minutes, and Ushijima knew that.

Oikawa tried to find his phone now, with that memory fresh in his head but fuzzy around the edges. It had been in his hand a few minutes before. He patted down the couch cushions and leaned forward to peer into the floor, in case he’d dropped it. He checked the clock again. The hands looked like they’d moved, but he still couldn’t see it clearly.

He tried to take one more drink, but the bottle was empty. He didn’t remember when that had happened. He put it aside and pushed himself off of the couch.

It was a miracle he stayed upright.

He swayed with the tilt of the room, laughing at himself under his breath as he made the journey to the kitchen. It was only a few steps, but it felt longer. He paused to lean against the doorway, and looked up at the clock. Now that he was closer, he could see it clearly.

Two a.m.

It wasn’t New Year’s Eve anymore.

He found his phone on the counter and checked the flock of messages on the screen. Most were from Iwaizumi from a few hours ago, demanding that he stop pouting and come over. Some were from Hanamaki and Matsukawa, who were apparently in attendance at the party. They’d sent candid pictures of Iwaizumi with lipstick smeared on his cheek, and some of Yahaba dozing off against Kyoutani’s shoulder. A few were of Hanamaki and Matsukawa themselves, making dumb faces with dumber captions.

Maybe Oikawa should’ve gone to see them, after all. It would’ve been better than sitting around feeling sorry for himself, for absolutely no reason at all.

It wasn’t that Ushijima hadn’t wanted to spend New Year’s with him. Oikawa knew that. He would’ve been there if he could. He was always there, when his schedule allowed.

Oikawa knew, but he was still bitter about it.

There was another bottle of wine in the refrigerator. Oikawa thought about it, longer than he should have, gradually slumping lower against the kitchen counter. It wouldn’t kill him to have just a little more. It was a special occasion, after all.

It wouldn’t kill him, but the hangover might.

He decided he should just go to bed, and distantly realized that his eyes were already closed.

A door slammed and he jolted upright, his imbalance nearly throwing him into the floor. He clutched onto the counter, heart kicking too fast through his dizzy haze.

That was too loud to be the neighbors. Too loud to be from anywhere except his apartment. But no one was there, other than him. Iwaizumi came over sometimes, but it was too late for that. He would still be at his own place, either sleeping or cleaning up the disaster that Hanamaki and Matsukawa had left behind. No one else had a key.

He must have imagined it. He was a little tipsy and a little exhausted and he’d imagined the sound. He needed to go to bed and sleep this off before morning. Ushijima would be back in the afternoon, and Oikawa wanted to be a functional human being before then.

He turned to do that, a little less gracefully than usual, but found himself stuck in place.

Someone was in the doorway, broad enough to block the light from the living room. Oikawa’s heart slammed against his chest in panic until he belatedly recognized the stiff posture, the strong features, the warm eyes.

Oikawa released a breath, and shaped the exhale around a quiet, “Wakatoshi?”

“You are still awake,” said Ushijima, still framed in the doorway. His travel bag was thrown over his shoulder, fleece coat buttoned up to his throat. “I thought you would be sleeping.”

Oikawa just stared at him. His brain was running more sluggishly than usual, but he didn’t think his confusion was only because of the alcohol. “Why’re you here?”

“I live here.”

Oikawa squinted at him. That wasn’t what he’d meant, and Ushijima knew it.

“I came home early from the match,” said Ushijima. He stepped into the room and shrugged off his bag. There was something in his hand, something wrapped in crinkling plastic, something with dark red and forest green.

“Roses?” said Oikawa. He blinked, dragged his stare back up to Ushijima’s face. “What for?”

“For you.” Ushijima crossed the small kitchen, offered the flowers to him. “I picked them up on the way. I had expected to give them to you in the morning.”

Oikawa took them, stared with a touch of confusion. “Roses aren’t a New Year’s kind of thing.”

“No,” agreed Ushijima, “but I believe they are appropriate for anniversaries.”

Oikawa clutched the roses closer. The plastic crinkled. “Oh.”

Ushijima took Oikawa’s free hand. His was cold from the weather, but Oikawa didn’t pull away. Ushijima leaned close, and Oikawa closed his eyes, waiting for a kiss.

Instead, Ushijima sniffed at him and said, “Have you been drinking, Tooru?”

Oikawa opened his eyes again. “Of course not.”

Ushijima’s face didn’t change.

“I mean, a little, maybe,” said Oikawa. “But I’m not like… _drunk_ drunk.”

“You should be asleep,” said Ushijima. “Go on. I will take care of these.” He plucked the roses from Oikawa’s hand. Oikawa gave them up, not willingly. He watched as Ushijima rifled through the cabinets, emerging with a vase that had been used for a different arrangement of flowers on Oikawa’s last birthday. He filled it half full of sink water, peeled the plastic off of the roses, and carefully placed them inside. They were nicer that way, with room to spread out, room to breathe. There were thorns on the stems, but Ushijima deftly avoided them. He was good at handling sharp, prickly things. Oikawa’s personality had been one of them, in the beginning.

“Thank you,” said Oikawa, belatedly.

“You are welcome. Would you like me to help you to bed?”

“I’m not that drunk.” Oikawa casually leaned onto the kitchen counter, almost slipped. He brushed it off and hoped Ushijima hadn’t noticed. “How are you back here?”

“I took an early flight,” he said. “I was hoping to be home before midnight, but there was a slight delay. I apologize for missing New Year’s.”

“But your match was today,” said Oikawa. “How did you…?”

“I left as soon as it ended,” said Ushijima. He arranged the roses a little more neatly and placed them in the center of the table. “There was a direct flight back to Japan.”

“So you’ve been on a plane for like… twelve hours?” said Oikawa, his face scrunching as he tried to calculate.

“Fourteen.”

“You just flew there yesterday. You should’ve gotten some rest before you came straight back. You should’ve-”

“I wanted to see you.”

Oikawa’s argument drifted away from him. He stared at Ushijima, long enough that he forgot what he’d been planning to say at all.

“Come here,” said Ushijima. He curled an arm half-around Oikawa’s shoulders and guided him out of the kitchen. Oikawa went, leaning into Ushijima’s side as they passed through the living room. Not because he needed the support – he was unsteady, but not drunk enough to fall – but because he liked the feeling of Ushijima’s body against his own.

Ushijima walked him to their room and stood by until Oikawa slouched into a seat on the edge of the bed. Ushijima’s hand lingered on his shoulder, and when he pulled away, he brushed Oikawa’s hair back, gently.

“Get some rest,” said Ushijima. “I will join you shortly.”

Oikawa tried to grab Ushijima’s wrist but missed, his fingers grasping at empty air. “Where’re you going?”

“I need to shower.”

Normally Oikawa would have coyly offered to join him, but he wasn’t confident in his ability to remain upright for that amount of time. He slumped back on the bed, one leg still hanging off of the edge. “Forget the shower. Just come to bed with me.”

“I will be back soon. Goodnight, Tooru.”

Oikawa mumbled something under his breath that may have been _goodnight_. He wasn’t completely sure himself. Ushijima wandered out of sight, and a moment later the room went dark. Oikawa squinted into the shadows, trying to see him. Through the open door, he had a perfect view through the living room and into the doorway of the kitchen. The roses stood proudly on the table under the dim dome light, a scarlet forest smudge in his blurring vision.

He tried to stay awake and wait for Ushijima.

He didn’t realize he’d failed until the mattress dipped under added weight, gently jostling him. Oikawa opened his eyes slowly. There was nothing to see. The bedroom door was closed, and everything was dark.

Ushijima’s warmth preceded him as he eased closer to Oikawa, clearly trying not to wake him. Oikawa thought it was surprising he’d woken up at all, considering that he still felt like he was floating. He rolled toward Ushijima, clumsily pawing at the sheets until he found him. His hand grazed a warm arm, following it to a bare chest. He curled up close, one leg hooking over Ushijima’s, abandoning his own pillow in favor of sharing.

Ushijima’s voice hummed in his chest before morphing into words. “I am sorry I woke you.”

“I’m not,” mumbled Oikawa, the words muffled against Ushijima’s shoulder. He felt his way across a broad chest, breathed in the clean musk of Ushijima’s soap.

A strong arm wound around Oikawa, pulling him closer. Ushijima sighed, so subtly that Oikawa wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been lying half on top of him. It was a sigh of contentment, of comfort.

“Didn’t think you’d remember,” said Oikawa, the words blurring around the edges. “’Cause you’re so busy.”

“You have said that every year,” said Ushijima, “and yet I always do. I remember things that are important to me, Tooru.”

Oikawa felt warm down to his core, and it had little to do with the veritable furnace that was Ushijima’s body heat. “Yeah, but you’ve had a lot of matches lately. They’re important.”

“They are not as important as you are. Nothing ever is.”

Oikawa made a low sound that was almost a whine. He rolled over and propped himself up on an elbow, still halfway splayed across Ushijima. It was almost pitch dark in their room, but the moonlight filtering through the gauzy curtains was just enough of a glow to outline the shape of Ushijima’s face in the shadows. Oikawa didn’t need the light. He knew exactly what Ushijima looked like, from the cut of his jaw to the slight curl of his hair, still shower-damp. He reached for him, and despite the lingering alcohol making him wobbly, and despite the near darkness, his hand found the side of Ushijima’s face and stayed there, like it was where it belonged. There was a scrape of stubble against his palm. If Ushijima hadn’t shaved, he must have been more exhausted than he’d let on.

Of course he was. He’d had a hard match followed by a fourteen-hour flight. He must have been drained. Oikawa should lie back down and let him sleep.

He should have, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Oikawa hunched over and found Ushijima’s mouth in the dark. It was warm against his own, lips dry from a long day of travel. Oikawa wetted them with his tongue, tracing across Ushijima’s bottom lip slowly. He clumsily slotted a knee between Ushijima’s to better hover over him, straddling a sturdy thigh.

“Tooru,” said Ushijima, the name slurred from the press of Oikawa’s mouth. “Wait.”

Oikawa brushed his lips along Ushijima’s jaw, descended to the column of his neck. He sucked at the skin, gently so he wouldn’t leave a mark. Ushijima had practice year-round. Oikawa had to be careful, whether he wanted to or not. “Wait for what?” murmured Oikawa, mouth still working at Ushijima’s throat.

Ushijima sighed, seemed to sink a little deeper into the bed. His head tilted back, exposing more of his neck. “You are tired. You should get some rest.”

Oikawa hummed, didn’t stop. He felt his way to Ushijima’s hip and tickled a soft trail of fingertips up to his chest. “Suddenly I’m not tired at all.”

“Tooru…”

Oikawa dipped his head lower, left a slight scrape of teeth across Ushijima’s collarbone. “Yes?”

Ushijima’s hands found Oikawa’s hips, his grip solid but careful. A low sound slipped from his throat, half pleasure and half frustration. “We can do this tomorrow, Tooru.”

Oikawa continued to travel lower, lips mapping out Ushijima’s chest. He rubbed against Ushijima’s thigh, pressed his knee upward, just slightly. “You want to wait until tomorrow?”

There was silence for a few heartbeats. Ushijima said, softly, “No.”

Oikawa smiled to himself. He rolled his hips against Ushijima’s thigh again, more insistently, the friction sparking a pleasant buzz that made him shiver. “Okay then.” He slithered even lower, fingers plucking at the edge of Ushijima’s underwear, mouth teasing at the half-hard cock hidden inside. 

Ushijima gave in with a sigh that was half resignation, half impatience. He kicked the tangle of sheets away from his trapped leg and Oikawa dug his fingers in to strip off Ushijima’s underwear. They were tossed aside, immediately forgotten, as Oikawa gravitated back to Ushijima’s cock. It swelled under his tongue, grew to fill his mouth as he sucked his way down to the base and back again, slowly enough that Ushijima’s hips bucked upward, seeking more. Oikawa took his time, scratching his nails along Ushijima’s inner thighs lightly, making him twitch as Oikawa took him deeper, nearly to the back of his throat.

Ushijima’s voice rumbled in his chest, dragging into a low moan that sent heat spiraling into Oikawa’s gut. A large hand sank into Oikawa’s hair, gently prying him away, coaxing him closer until Ushijima found Oikawa’s mouth with his own. The kiss was messy, desperate. Oikawa licked into Ushijima’s mouth, savoring the taste of him, the warmth of him. Ushijima’s hands were at Oikawa’s hips again, holding him steady as he grinded up against him. Oikawa gasped a breath into Ushijima’s open mouth, dug his nails into a strong shoulder as they moved together.

“Wakatoshi.” Oikawa tried to purr the name, but he was too breathless. “I’m glad you came home.”

Ushijima kissed him again, his teeth catching at Oikawa’s lip, just barely. “As am I. I missed you, Tooru.”

“Yeah?” said Oikawa. He rolled his hips against Ushijima’s and moaned under his breath. “Show me how much you missed me.”

That was all the invitation that Ushijima needed. He surged upward, and before Oikawa could react, he was flipped onto his back, caged between Ushijima’s arms, pinned in place by the heat of him and by the dark stare that pierced Oikawa even through the darkness. Ushijima’s hand mapped out Oikawa’s side, callouses from years of volleyball scratching against his skin. He pulled off Oikawa’s underwear in one quick yank, and kissed Oikawa with such ferocity that he could think of nothing else until a pair of thick fingers worked their way inside him. He gasped against Ushijima’s lips, pushed himself against Ushijima’s hand.

Ushijima went slow. He always did, no matter how many times Oikawa insisted he didn’t have to. He treated Oikawa like he was valuable, like he meant something.

Even if Oikawa didn’t always feel that he deserved it.

“ _Wakatoshi_.” Oikawa’s voice caught somewhere between a mumble and a moan. His knees were already pushed wide by the broadness of Ushijima’s hips wedged between them, but he spread them further.

Ushijima found his mouth again, kissing him deeply enough to steal his breath. His fingers worked deeper with an easy slide of lube, and Oikawa pinched Ushijima’s bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently. Ushijima didn’t make a sound, but the huff of air through his teeth was the same as a groan. He rubbed himself against the inside of Oikawa’s thigh, hot and solid.

Oikawa smirked, though it must have been invisible in the low light. Ushijima probably heard it in Oikawa’s voice when he said, “Feels like you missed me a lot, Wakatoshi. I’m flattered.”

The edge of teasing slipped away when Ushijima’s free hand curled around Oikawa’s cock. Oikawa arched against him, choking on a gasp.

“You know that I always miss you,” said Ushijima. He dipped his fingers further, flexed them in a way that sent a jolt racing up Oikawa’s spine before removing them. “I would always stay, if given a choice.”

“Yeah.” Oikawa’s brain was a little hazy, and he would’ve liked to blame it on the wine, but he thought it was mostly just Ushijima. “I know.”

Ushijima’s nose traced the edge of Oikawa’s jaw before he found his mouth again. Their tongues touched, tangled, as Ushijima shifted and slowly sank inside of Oikawa. He was thick enough that Oikawa winced from the stretch, but he dug his nails into Ushijima’s shoulders and hooked a leg around sturdy hips, urging him deeper.

“You don’t have to go slow,” said Oikawa, although he knew it was pointless.

Ushijima grunted and kept his careful pace as he pushed all the way in.

Oikawa panted beneath him, rocking himself against Ushijima and dragging his nails down a solid back. He could leave a mark there, at least, safely hidden beneath a team jersey.

Ushijima huffed a hot breath against Oikawa’s lips, kissed him in a way that lingered. He pulled his hips back and thrust forward again, the motion cautious, smooth. The next stroke was a little harder, and when Oikawa moaned an encouragement, the next snap of his hips almost stung.

Oikawa hooked his legs around Ushijima’s waist, ankles crossing at the dip of his lower back. He squeezed him closer, rolling his hips up to meet the thrusts, slinging an arm around Ushijima’s neck and yanking him down for a messy kiss.

Ushijima groaned into Oikawa’s mouth, the sound muffled. He sat back on his heels and took Oikawa with him, strong arms braced around his back, holding him upright. Oikawa wasn’t light, but Ushijima lifted him as if he was weightless, gripping beneath his thighs and holding him steady as he thrust up into him.

The angle was divine, and Oikawa moaned a long string of syllables that blended into _Wakatoshi_. He sank his fingers into damp hair, pulled just enough for Ushijima to tilt his head back so Oikawa could lick into his mouth. “Harder,” said Oikawa, a whisper nearly lost on Ushijima’s lips.

Ushijima’s grip dug in and he slammed his hips upward, dragging a low, rolling moan from Oikawa’s throat.

Oikawa braced his hands on Ushijima’s shoulders and unwrapped his legs, pushing Ushijima onto his back and riding him down. He sat up on his knees, sinking as far onto Ushijima’s cock as he could get, the pressure of it sending spirals of heat down to his core. He raised himself up, a slight tremble in his thighs, and dropped down again, hard. Ushijima’s groan was almost in sync with Oikawa’s.

Oikawa pressed his palms against Ushijima’s chest. It was firm, unyielding, as he leaned his weight onto it, and then slammed himself back onto Ushijima’s cock. It struck deep, and Oikawa breathed a constant moan as he did it again, and again, riding Ushijima in a rhythm so fast it left him breathless.

He couldn’t see Ushijima’s face in the dark, but he could picture it all the same. Ushijima’s eyes would be as dark as the shadows that hid them, pupils blown wide, mouth slightly open. His hair would be a mess from Oikawa’s wandering hands, and he would have a slight dusting of color across his cheeks, from either arousal or exertion. Watching Ushijima unravel was one of Oikawa’s favorite things, because it was something that only he had the privilege of seeing. It was only for him; no one else.

“Tooru.” Ushijima’s voice was tight, strained. He was close. Even if he hadn’t spoken, Oikawa would have known from the tension building beneath his palms, from the way Ushijima grasped his hips like they were a lifeline.

“And you wanted to sleep instead,” panted Oikawa. He tried to sound flippant, but he was barely holding himself together. “Ridiculous.”

“ _Tooru_.” Ushijima’s hand moved, tracing the line of Oikawa’s hipbone and dipping lower, fisting around his cock. Oikawa threw his head back, every muscle pulling tight. Ushijima rocked his hips upward, stroking Oikawa in time with the thrusts, and Oikawa felt himself slipping.

Ushijima twisted his wrist, thumb flicking over the head of Oikawa’s cock, and he was gone.

Oikawa’s entire body went taut, back arching with a perfect curve, head falling back as the pleasure took him. He rocked back onto Ushijima’s cock, squeezing around it as he pulsed in Ushijima’s hand. Ushijima grunted, hips bucking upward, and Oikawa felt the hot spill of him.

Oikawa rode out his orgasm, hips stuttering until they went still. He lifted himself off of Ushijima, wet heat dripping down his thighs, and rolled onto his back, boneless. He lied there with his eyes closed, listening to Ushijima’s labored breathing level out and slow to normal. Oikawa started to move closer, but his limbs were heavy, like his veins had been filled with lead. He reached out a hand, fingertips barely brushing Ushijima’s arm.

It must have been a few minutes later when the bed shifted and Oikawa woke up, realizing only then that he’d drifted off. The room was still dark, but Ushijima was cleaning him off blindly, his fingers gently mapping out Oikawa’s body as he wiped their mess away. Oikawa mumbled a thank you, but it came out quiet and slurred. Ushijima understood anyway, he must have. He nudged Oikawa until he rolled, and draped the bedsheets over his bare skin. A minute later Ushijima crawled in beside him, and Oikawa tossed a weary leg over Ushijima’s to intertwine them. He leaned into Ushijima, and his sigh tasted of contentment.

“Go to sleep, Tooru.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Oikawa mumbled.

Ushijima laughed. It was silent, but Oikawa felt the hitch of it in his chest.

“You won the practice match,” said Oikawa. The words stuck together, but Ushijima must have peeled them apart and interpreted them.

“Yes, we did.”

“You won’t get so lucky next week,” said Oikawa. He curled an arm around Ushijima’s waist and nestled closer. “You’ll get crushed. That team is amazing.”

This time Ushijima’s laugh was barely audible, a low rumble. “Their setter, in particular, is admirable.”

Oikawa smiled in the dark, the curve of it pressed against Ushijima’s chest. “He is, isn’t he? Probably the best setter there’s ever been.”

“Yes,” said Ushijima. His fingers threaded through Oikawa’s hair, gentle. “I believe that you are.”

Oikawa wanted to say something more. He always had comments about their team rivalries, taunts and teasing that were always good-natured rather than hard and bitter, as they’d been back in high school. Now, it didn’t matter which of them won. It was still a victory for both of them.

He wanted to say all sorts of things, but he was too tired and too comfortable and too cozy wrapped up with Ushijima to focus on any of them. Instead he finally gave himself permission to sleep.

Everything else could wait until tomorrow, or the next day, or the one after, because Ushijima would always be there.


End file.
